


an introduction to magic

by clarnicamhalai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Post-War, from one muggleborn to another, hermione likes to help (especially when it encourages learning), introducing muggleborns to magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:19:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10097750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarnicamhalai/pseuds/clarnicamhalai
Summary: The Elsley family hadn’t known what to think when the owl had first arrived.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd. I just want to start the ball rolling with this one. I have too many WIPs, they're out of control.

**“an introduction to magic”**

The Elsley family hadn’t known what to think when the owl had first arrived, delivering a letter written in green ink to the second largest bedroom of their house at number twenty-three Waratah Lane. It hadn’t been an accident, either. It genuinely read:

_Mr Owen Michael Elsley_  
_The Second Largest Bedroom_  
_23 Waratah Lane_  
_Crystal Palace_  
_LONDON_

Mr Elsley had at first thought it a rather half-hearted prank, but a follow up from a man whose talents included transforming a coffee table into a small horse succeeded in proving its apparent reliability. It certainly explained his son’s occasional quirks.

Owen had been well and truly convinced of his magical ability the minute the owl, appropriately named ‘Archimedes’, had arrived, and had felt truly validated when Professor Goldstein arrived to explain the weird things that tended to happen around him. Now they were expecting to go to Diagon Alley in London to pick up his school things, an adventure which would be their first real experience as a family of the world that was, on September first, to welcome their son with open arms.

+

“Hullo,” greeted the familiar voice of Professor Goldstein, the man himself bustling over to them from what appeared to be a pub called ‘The Leaky Cauldron’. Mr Elsley blinked. He was almost certain it hadn’t been there before. “How are we all? Excited, I hope?”

Owen nodded, beaming.

“Excellent,” Professor Goldstein said. “Well, I guess we’d best head across the border – this way!”

He led them through the old door and onto a lively pub floor. He was greeted by several patrons but none made further attempts to chat, aware that he was performing his school duties, though one fellow drew the family’s attention simply because he was, quite frankly, the largest person they’d ever seen.

“Rubeus Hagrid,” Professor Goldstein informed them. “He’s a fellow professor and also the gamekeeper at Hogwarts. Lovely man, lovely man. You’ll meet him when you get off the train, Owen; he invariably takes the first years up to the castle.”

“He’s very large,” Mrs Elsley commented.

“Part giant,” the wizard explained. “Usually manifests in height.”

The sentence rather stunned the small family, but Owen recovered quickly, stating, “Cor. Giants an’ all. This is wicked.”

Professor Goldstein smiled and led them confidently outside. What greeted them was a magical smorgasbord. Witches and wizards from all walks of life filled Diagon Alley; some were dressed in muggle clothes, but others, like the formidable Augusta Longbottom who had that instant exited the apothecary, wore finely crafted traditional robes.

She eyed the new family as she passed and tipped her head regally. To Goldstein she said, “Didn’t your mother teach you to comb your hair, Young Anthony?” He blushed and she pointed at it with her stick and added, “Look at it, all sticking up like a crup’s tail.”

She cackled at her own joke and waved them on, and with each step away from the formidable witch Professor Goldstein appeared to regain his equilibrium.

“The grandmother of one of my former classmates,” he explained hastily. “Very well thought of in the magical community is Mistress Longbottom.”

Mrs Elsley hid a smile. “In a terrifying sort of way?”

“Exactly so.”

“Sounds like your grandmother,” her husband murmured to her and she laughed, swatting him gently.

They moved through the alley, picking up bits and pieces of history as well as the necessary school items, but it wasn’t long before the muggle parents noticed a few of the singularly unnerving members of the community.

In Flourish & Blotts they saw a girl with terrible scars marring the left side of her face; in the apothecary, a man’s arms were covered with old burns. Several people bore lighter wounds, old, but still obvious. Missing limbs, twisted scars – they were upsetting sights for anyone in a strange environment.

Mrs Elsley quietly brought it to their guide’s attention as they sat for a quick treat outside Florean Fortescue’s famous ice-creamery.

“Professor Goldstein,” she murmured as Owen and his father headed to the counter, “I can’t help but notice that there are-” she hesitated “-a lot of individuals with deformities.”

“Yes?” the wizard prompted calmly.

“Is that, I mean, is that likely to happen to Owen?” she asked worriedly.

Professor Goldstein smiled sadly, looking into the distance for a moment.

“No,” he finally replied. “Even if he was to suffer an injury, our medical facilities can cure almost every magical malady or injury – including the regrowth of bones.”

“But these people…” she trailed off.

Professor Goldstein took up where she left off, saying firmly, “… are war victims; heroes and heroines, too, but victims first and foremost.” His eyes were steady and serious.

“I think,” he added after a brief silence, “our next visit might be a little bookshop I know. I’ve a friend there with an excellent grasp of explaining the delicacies of recent history and I’m quite sure she’ll be able to point you to a helpful book.”

+

“Anthony! This is a nice surprise,” a woman with wild hair cried out warmly as they entered the tiny shop, happily taking his hand and accepting his polite greeting kiss. “Terry’s just on his lunch break- oh, excuse me!” she exclaimed, registering the Elsleys as part of his company. “Hello.”

She glanced at Goldstein. “Muggleborn duty?” she queried.

“Yep,” Owen answered enthusiastically.

“Well, always pleasure to meet a fellow muggleborn,” she said, shaking the boy's hand before repeating the gesture with his parents. “Hermione Granger, what can I do for you?”

“I was hoping you’d be able to provide a book or a few words concerning Recent Events. The Elsleys are curious about the proclivity of irreversible injuries and I’m neither a professor of history nor of medi-wizardry.”

“Right,” she replied. “I’ve got just the thing.”

Disappearing out the back for a split second, she returned with a large tome. Though relatively new, it was bound impressively, and gave off a very venerable air. Clearly not a frivolous book, Mr Elsley thought to himself.

It was entitled, _Britain at War, 1968-1998: The Rise and Fall of Tom Marvolo Riddle_.

“Excellent book,” Miss Granger commented, tapping the cover, “fantastic research and reliable sources, too.”

“Nineteen sixty-eight to nineteen ninety-eight?” Mrs Elsley mused.

“Major internal disaster, civil war – and not a whisper of the truth ever reached your side of the border – at least, no further than the Prime Minister’s ears. Everything is fine now, of course. It’s amazing what magic can repair.”

“Unfortunately it does have its limits,” Professor Goldstein interposed. “Mike’s proof of that.”

“Lavender, too,” Miss Granger added.

The wizard and witch exchanged a meaningful glance.

Mrs Elsley flicked the book open to the contents page, perusing quietly. Halfway down, she exclaimed, “You were involved in this war, Miss Granger?”

“We all were, I'm afraid; it was inescapable,” she replied sadly. “Some of us were simply luckier than others.”

“But you could have been hardly more than a child!”

“War carries no conscience.” Her fingers clenched momentarily, and the other wizard could guess the fallen comrades that had passed through her mind for they passed through his own each day. The moment of remembrance faded and Hermione smiled gently.

“What’s done is done, however, and the world keeps turning,” she said. “The Wizarding World is healing well; there has been a great deal of progress since then. Your son will spend the best moments of his life at Hogwarts.” She turned her kind face to Owen. “You’ll make friends for life, discover things that are mind-boggling and fantastic, and, most importantly, you’ll learn to control your magic. It’s a wonderful place. Even during the war, there was no safer place than Hogwarts. The castle looks after its own.”

Turning back to his parents, she added generously: “Take the book with my compliments. You’re very welcome to come and chat at any time, or even just ask questions. And if you want some more reading, I’ll be happy to collect a few books for you.”

“Thank you,” Mrs Elsley replied.

“Make sure you see the book first, especially if she classifies it as light reading,” Professor Goldstein warned. “Hermione’s light reading takes several months for anyone else.”

“Cheeky,” Hermione said, slipping the book into a bag and holding it out to Owen. “I’ll let Terry know you dropped in.” That was to Goldstein, who smiled his thanks at her.

She waved them off, wishing Owen a good year at Hogwarts, and returned to ordering the shelves.

The rest of the day passed in a blur, and when the Elsleys arrived home they carried with them not only Owen’s textbooks and wand (apple with dragon heartstring, eleven and a quarter inches), but various types of apparatus for Potions, a cage bearing a handsome male eagle owl, several bags of magical sweets and a copy of _The Daily Prophet_.

A whole new world had been revealed and the Elsleys could only go forward.

+

The first owl post that Tilda Elsley received from her son once he’d arrived at Hogwarts was an almost illegible ink note on parchment that explained he had been placed in Ravenclaw and had already made several friends (whose names she couldn’t make out clearly, but looked perhaps like Octavius and Eilidh). Owen complained briefly that he already had homework, gushed about how many of his professors were apparently war heroes, and, finally, advised that if she wanted to reply Hobbs would wait for her to write and the bring it back with him. So, that was what she did.

The eagle owl watched and waited and eyeballed her steak (as he’d arrived during dinner), so Tilda hastily scribbled out a reply and gave the animal a strip of meat before sending him on his way.

Julian, reading the missive after the owl had flown off, said, “War heroes for teachers – can you imagine it? It would be like having Nelson as your maths teacher.”

“I have to say, Julian, I’m so intrigued by this whole war idea.” Tilda thought back to the book Hermione had given them at Bookworms Bookshop, the day they’d visited Diagon Alley. She hadn’t had time to read it as they prepared to send Owen off to magic school. Perhaps now was her opportunity. “I’m going to sit down with that book tonight. How can an entire war be kept secret?”

Julian shrugged. “They can hide a pub in plain sight.”

“Speaking of,” Tilda said. “If we can find Diagon Alley again, I’d like to visit that Hermione; she said she was a muggleborn, too. It might be worthwhile having a chat, see how we can make the transitioning between magic and non-magic worlds easier for Owen.”

“Sounds good,” Julian agreed. “I’ll leave that in your capable hands, my darling.”

+

Tilda finished the tome in record time; she’d found it hard to put the book down, at times equally horrified and amazed by the history she learned within its pages. She saw names now familiar to her: Neville Longbottom was Owen’s Herbology professor and the Hufflepuff Head of House; Hermione Granger was the girl from the bookstore; Minerva McGonagall was the Headmistress at Hogwarts. To consider these figures as war veterans was almost incomprehensible. And yet, by all accounts they had been in the thick of it.

It only cemented Tilda’s interest in meeting with Hermione.

She received a second missive from Owen not long after the first, this one exclaiming about the wizarding sport – Quidditch. It was played on brooms, way up in the air, with what sounded like cannon balls zooming around trying to break people’s noses. Tilda, who wasn’t even a fan of regular muggle football, thought it sounded awful, but Owen was clearly enjoying the concept, and that was what mattered.

She hesitated before replying this time, and, wondering if it would work, eventually gave Hobbs two slips of paper to deliver. One for Owen, and another addressed to Hermione at Bookworms Bookshop.

Then, she waited.

She didn’t have to wait long for a reply; Hermione was an efficient correspondent. She wrote back with a time and a place (in muggle London), and said she looked forward to being reacquainted.

Tilda's curiosity couldn't wait.


End file.
